


Tangled up

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Tied up in knots [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ass Play, Bottom!Athos, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Polyamory, hints of bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos's wife killed his brother, and her ghost is driving him to drink. Aramis and Porthos stage an intervention before their best friend throws his career away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled up

“Lieutenant de la Fère, were you aware of your wife’s criminal record when you married her?”

“No, _monsieur le juge_.”

“Or of her real name?”

“No, _monsieur le juge_.”

“Would knowing either of these things have changed your decision to marry her?”

Athos drew in a breath. “No, _monsieur le juge_.”

“That is all, inspector, thank you.”

*********************************

The judge found that Anne de la Fère, _née_ Anne De Breuil, also known as Anne La Chapelle, had been entirely responsible for the death of her brother-in-law Thomas de la Fère, and had herself been lawfully killed by a SWAT officer while resisting arrest and constituting a danger to the general public. Investigation closed.

It wasn’t the first night Athos had drunk himself into insensibility since Thomas and Anne had died. But it _was_ the first time sine they’d died that he’d done so because Anne’s ghost wouldn’t stop looking at him with sad, accusing eyes.

*********************************

He stumbled into the station, late, dishevelled, and stinking of booze, so of _course_ the first person who saw him was Commandant Marcheaux. It wasn’t as if life was about to cut him any slack, after all.

“De la Fère, you cannot come into this office in this state. Go home. You’re suspended from duty for one week. The next time you turn up drunk to work, you will be sacked on the spot. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, _monsieur le commandant_.”

Athos turned, managed not to trip or lose the bilious contents of his stomach on the floor, and stalked out. Aramis caught his arm as he headed for the door. Athos ignored his friend, but didn’t shake off his arm either.

Aramis dragged him towards the canteen. “Coffee.”

“Fuck off.”

“Not now, my friend. Porthos is on his way.”

“Marcheaux will be pissed off.”

“Who cares? He’s always pissed off at something or other. Sit.” Aramis pointed at a chair.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a dog.”

“Don’t behave like an animal then, Athos. Sit down, please.”

Athos obeyed, too hungover to glare effectively. He put his head in his hands and cursed his life and his luck, and the fact that no matter how drunk he got, he still couldn’t make Anne stop haunting him. She had been behind him again as he looked at the bathroom mirror this morning. There was a reason he’d stopped shaving.

“Mate, you need help.” Porthos sat down opposite him.

“I need to go home. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Bullshit. Once you have some coffee, I’m taking you back to our place, and you are staying there until you dry out. And then you’re still staying there.”

“Fuck off.”

“Manners, _monsieur le comte._ ”

Athos lifted his head and gave Porthos the finger. “Do _not_ call me that again.”

“Then stop behaving like you can operate on different rules to everyone else, and that drinking like this is good, normal, or healthy.”

Athos put his head back in his hands. “I never said it was,” he muttered.

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop it? You’re killing us, having to watch you.”

“Don’t watch. Simple.”

Aramis put a cup of coffee in front of him. “Drink that, and we’ll see how you get on.”

“Why don’t you both leave me alone?”

“Because, Athos, strange as it may seem, we love you. We also don’t want to lose you as a friend, a fellow officer, or as our resident cynic. Why are you still doing this?”

“Anne.”

“It’s been six months, Athos _querido_. And she killed your brother. Surely you aren’t still grieving so hard for her you want to die too?”

“Keep seeing her.”

“That’s normal—”

Athos glared at Aramis, and pointed at him. “No. I keep _seeing_ her. She’s here now, standing behind you.”

Aramis looked behind him in shock. “What... _chéri_ , there’s no one there.”

“Not a person. A ghost. Oh good, she’s finally buggered off.” He grabbed the coffee and drank it, then gagged. “Christ, that’s shit.”

“Surprised you have any taste buds left the way you’ve abused them. Everyone likes a drink, my friend, and you’ve had more excuse than most, but this is ridiculous. Stupid, even. And you’re not a stupid man. There are no such things as ghosts.”

“Someone forgot to tell her that.”

Aramis sighed and looked at Porthos. “Reckon Marcheaux would believe it if one of us called in sick?”

“No, but I’m gonna. You go back to work, tell him I got caught short with the shits. I’ll see you at home later.”

Aramis stood, bent and kissed Porthos on the cheek, then leaned over and kissed Athos on the top of his head. “Go home and sleep,” he said gently. “We’ll talk.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Oh, yes, we will.”

It went quiet after that. Athos concentrated on the coffee, although he could feel Porthos’s eyes drilling a hole into the top of his skull. “Go back to work,” he mumbled. “You don’t need Marcheaux on your case.”

“Eh, fuck’em. You done?”

“Yeah.” Athos shoved the chair back, stood, nearly fell except for Porthos’s big hand under his elbow. He shook it off. “‘M _fine_.”

“Yeah, right. This way, milord.”

“Fuck _off_.” Athos hoped, not for the first time, that whomever it was who had connected his surname to his family’s long-unused noble title and spread the news around the station, was currently suffering a long, intractable bout of shingles.

*********************************

Porthos fed him painkillers, water, and soluble vitamins, before making him lie down in their huge king size bed, and covering him with a quilt. Athos slept until mid-afternoon. When he wandered out to the living room, Porthos was drinking tea and reading on his iPad. “Feeling better?”

Athos grunted.

“Feeling stupid?”

“A bit.”

Porthos held out his hand. “C’mere, stupid.”

Athos went to him and was folded into his friend’s muscular arms. Porthos tucked Athos against him with as much ease as if he’d been a doll, and held him just as carefully. Athos lay there, incredibly embarrassed and incredibly grateful that he had two friends left who gave this much of a fuck about him, and let Porthos’s warmth leach into his frozen soul.

After an hour or so, Athos’s stomach gurgled. “Toast,” Porthos decreed.

“I can—”

“Sit.” Porthos eased him out from under Athos and walked over to the kitchen. In minutes he was back with a pile of hot buttered toast. “Eat.”

“Not a _dog_ ,” Athos grumbled, before tearing into the toast like a starving hound.

When he was done, Porthos grabbed his hand and licked the tips of his fingers. Athos moaned a little at the touch. “Better?” Porthos whispered.

“Yeah.”

Porthos pulled him close again and kissed his forehead. “We’re gonna have a bath when Aramis comes home, the three of us. He told me to run it nice and hot. Then him and me are both gonna fuck you, cos you like it.”

A shiver ran through Athos. “Yes,” he whispered.

“And you need it.” Porthos ran his fingers through Athos’s hair. “Why didn’t you come to us instead of getting wasted so bad?”

“Because it’s only temporary. I’d be coming back over and over, and you’d get sick of me.”

“Yep, you’re stupid.” Porthos kissed him again. “We love you, Athos. We’ve always got time for you. Especially after all that shit. Don’t close us out any more.”

Aramis was home an hour later. Porthos shifted Athos to Aramis’s arms like he was a sickly child. Perhaps he was. “Running that bath now.”

Aramis put his arms around Athos. “Any better?”

“A bit.”

“Want to talk?”

“No.”

“Later?”

“Okay.” All he really wanted to do was to crawl inside Aramis or Porthos and live there and leave the world behind. Everything just fucking hurt. Booze was the only thing outside sex with his friends that came close to blunting the misery of his life now. But the booze was killing him, and his career. Maybe he should just use his service weapon and be done with it.

“Hey, stop it.” Athos looked up into Aramis’s deep brown eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking about is horrible, based on the look on your face. Don’t think about it.”

“Can’t stop. Can’t...breathe, Aramis. Every time I stop for even a second, it crashes down on me.”

“I know, love. So, I’ve applied for two days’ emergency leave, and Porthos is going to do the same for Thursday and Friday. That gives us all until next Monday some time to try and get you dried out and sorted out, Athos _querido_. You’re going to stop drinking and start letting us help you. Okay?”

“All right.”

“Hmmm, I’ve heard more enthusiastic responses. Marcheaux is determined to take you down, love. You don’t just need to change, you need to get away.”

“I can’t.”

“No? Ten euros says that if you call Treville, he’ll make you a very special offer you can’t refuse.”

Athos twisted again. “You’ve talked to him.”

“Several times. The essence of our conversations comes down to, ‘get his scrawny arse down here so I can take charge of it again’. Sounds pretty kinky to me, but who knows what our captain is into.”

“Not me, that’s for sure.”

Aramis kissed him. “Everyone is into you, Athos, if you allow them to be. You’re adorable when you’re not drunk off your quite beautiful arse. Now, let’s get up. Bath time.”

Porthos was already in the enormous tub, gorgeous and inviting. Aramis shed his clothes and stepped in at the other end, his legs between Porthos’s. Athos’s place would be on top, between them. It had been months since he’d allowed himself this pleasure, and would never have dared ask for it. It always felt like an intrusion, no matter how much the two told him they wanted him there, loved him and loved him being with them. They were a couple for life. He was just this...stray dog.

Aramis hooked a wet arm around Athos’s legs. “Stop it. Nasty thoughts again. Get in here now, _chéri_.”

Athos hissed at the heat of the water—he swore Porthos was half-Japanese, with his love of near boiling baths—but once he was in and cushioned against Porthos, his feet on Aramis’s flat belly, he felt his muscles ease, the tendons in his neck relax. Porthos had put something nice in the water, some essential oil mix Athos couldn’t quite dissect. It was nice.

Aramis picked one of his feet and began to massage it. Athos moaned, squirming back against Porthos at the sensations from his feet. Porthos played lazily with Athos’s cock, not trying to make him come, just touching and stroking like he would any other part of Athos’s skin.

By the time Aramis had expertly dealt with both of his feet, Athos was limp, the stress he had used for months to keep himself upright, dissolved like bath salts in the hot water. Porthos rumbled into life, urging him to roll over, which he managed to do with a bit of help from both his companions. Now he lay with his face against Porthos’s neck, Porthos’s beard scratching his face. Aramis spread his knees until they were outside Porthos’s body. “Ready for this, _chéri_?” He ran a finger down between Athos’s buttocks.

“God, yes.”

“Gonna look after you so good tonight,” Porthos murmured, his hand splayed on Athos’s back, centring and anchoring him. He caught Athos’s hand with his free one, and brought Athos’s fingers to his mouth so he could suck on them. Athos wriggled with pleasure, then gasped as one of Aramis’s long fingers, slick with oil, teased at his hole. Aramis slipped it in and immediately Athos needed more. “Another. Please, Aramis.”

“Greedy boy. Let’s take it slow, Athos. It’s been a while.”

He fucked Athos lazily with just the one finger, with Porthos sucking at Athos’s hand, biting and licking, until Athos squirmed with need. “Please. Please, more,” he begged.

Aramis slid another finger into him, keeping up the same slow sliding rhythm, never going near his prostate, never going hard enough or fast enough to make him come just from this, though Aramis could and had done when he wanted to. But Athos needed, oh he needed something bigger and longer. “Fuck me. Someone, just fuck me.”

“Not here, _chéri_. Porthos, let’s get him dried off.”

Grumbling with frustration, Athos allowed himself to be manhandled into towels and rubbed dry, then walked the short distance into the bedroom. Porthos held him to his chest again, while Aramis raised Athos’s hips and shoved pillows under them. “You be nice to Porthos now while I take care of you back here, Athos.”

Porthos pushed himself back up the bed, bringing Athos eye level with his lovely cock. He gripped Porthos’s hips, put his mouth on his hips and sucked carefully, being rewarded by Porthos’s sudden hiss and the way his buttocks tightened. Athos warmed Porthos’s cock in his mouth while Aramis played with Athos’s hole, adding lube, stretching it again until Athos was ready to yell with need. Then Aramis entered him, a long, gradual slide of heat, filling Athos to the hilt. Athos swallowed Porthos down further, then rose up. Aramis pulled back, then in, again, harder.

Porthos bucked under him as Aramis’s thrusts forced Athos’s mouth down onto Porthos’s cock, sliding back again as Aramis dragged him back, before entering him again, harder, deeper each time.

The rhythm was torment. With each Athos’s cock rubbed deliciously against the pillow, but never fast enough. Aramis’s grip on his hips meant he couldn’t force the pace, and no matter what he did with Porthos, the man never urged Aramis to hurry up. He’d taken Athos’s hands and pulled them tight past his head, so Athos could only use his mouth, swallowing Porthos’s cock, sucking and licking, spit and tears on his face, down his chin, and soaking Porthos’s skin.

Porthos held him taut even when he came in Athos’s mouth, his stomach rippling, and Aramis pushed Athos’s knees even further apart, so he was filled and stretched and aching, desperate, weeping with his need to come, for Aramis to come inside him. He cried out when Aramis put his hand under Athos and held his cock in it. “Now, _querido_. Come now.”

Athos spent, shuddering and crying, while Aramis, still pinning him with one hand, came too. Athos gasped against Porthos’s skin, still aching, still, even now, wanting more. Wanting nothing more than this, forever

He came back to himself, curled up on Porthos’s chest. Aramis was wiping him down. Athos cuddled closer to the furnace that was Porthos’s body, Porthos’s arm around him. Aramis kissed his way up Athos’s back, then lay down beside the two of them so he could comb Athos’s hair with his fingers. “Better?” he whispered again Athos’s ear.

“Yes. Thank you. Thank you both.”

“Our pleasure.” Porthos ‘s voice rumbled through his chest, soothing as his heart beat. “You sleep now, love.”

So Athos did.

*********************************

“You really don’t need to babysit me,” Athos said as Aramis set brioche and hot chocolate down in front of him for breakfast. “I’m fine.”

“Athos, darling, I’ve seen babies less fragile and needy than you right now. So yes, we do have to babysit you. I’m sorry we didn’t step in sooner.”

“Wouldn’t have let you,” Athos mumbled.

“You didn’t exactly ‘let’ us yesterday either. Eat up and behave.”

Athos raised an eyebrow at his friend, but only got an innocent look back for his trouble.

Food was good, and so was Aramis’s undemanding company. The question was, what would he do when he’d rid his body of the alcohol, and went back to work. Anne’s ghost had left him alone for a whole day. Was that because he’d stopped drinking or because he’d had sex for the first time since she’d died...murdered Thomas?

Ghost or no ghost, she was still dead and so was his brother.

Athos jumped as a finger tilted his chin. “Again with the nasty thoughts,” Aramis murmured. “Do I need to distract you?”

Athos slid off his chair and went to Aramis, kneeling before his friend, sprawled comfortably in his own seat. “Let me,” he mumbled, laying his head on Aramis’s lap. “Please.”

“Darling, you—”

“Please.” He unbuttoned Aramis’s jeans and unzipped them. Aramis lifted up and let Athos slide his jeans and underwear down his thighs. Aramis was only half hard but in Athos’s mouth, grew rigid. “Fuck my mouth. Please, Aramis.”

“ _Chéri_ ,” Aramis murmured, “you don’t need me to punish you.”

“No...it’s not punishment. Please, I just want it.”

So Aramis stood, and held Athos’s head, and used his mouth, slowly and carefully, while Athos cried with gratitude. Only this drove away the memories. Only the touch of someone who had never betrayed him, or lied to him, or stolen anyone from him.

Aramis encouraged Athos to deep throat him, again with exquisite gentleness and care that he didn’t choke or suffer. The slow pace and the sex the night before meant it took a long time for him to climax, but Athos would be happy to do this all day, for this man, for both of them. When Aramis came, Athos swallowed it all, and kept Aramis’s cock in his mouth until his friend pulled away, kneeling down in front of him to kiss him.

“Thank you, _chéri_.” Athos nestled in his arms, needing the contact so desperately. “Come with me.”

Aramis led him to the couch, and pulled Athos against him, holding him close. He kissed Athos’s hair. “Athos, you know we love you, and we love making love to you, and you making love to us. But you can’t replace an addiction to alcohol with an addiction to sex.” Mortified, Athos tried to free himself from Aramis’s arms, only for Aramis to use the strength in his deceptively slim arms to hold him back. “No, don’t run, darling. I’m not accusing you or blaming you. I would just rather your morning blow jobs, which, I freely admit, are a gift from God, came from desire, not pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop it. I don’t want you to become miserable again. I just want you to tell me, here, while you’re safe and with someone you trust, what the hell is going on. You said she’s haunting you.”

“I meant it literally. I’ve been seeing her. Not just in my dreams, but in my bedroom, while I shave, at work. Always the same, always sad, always accusing me with her expression.”

“Love, leaving aside the whole questions of whether ghosts even exist—”

“I am _not_ making it up.”

Aramis held up a hand. “I never said you were. But leaving that aside as inexplicable, tell me. Why would she accuse you? What did you have to do with her death? Absolutely nothing. You were on duty on the other side of the city. You didn’t call the SWAT team to the house, and they were both dead before you heard anything about it. Not to mention the fact her death was ruled entirely justified, and she killed Thomas. What possible blame do you carry?”

Athos ran his fingers through his hair. “None. I know, Aramis. I know the facts, and we know why she killed him. But her ghost doesn’t care.”

“Her ghost is a manipulative piece of shit then. Do you feel guilty over her death?”

“No! I mean, yes, a little. She killed Thomas because he was going to expose her. But I wouldn’t have cared. I should have made it clear I would never care.”

Aramis stroked a finger against his cheek. “You should have told her you didn’t care she was a convicted felon before you knew she was a convicted felon? Really?”

“I must have given her cause to think my love wasn’t deep enough. Something. Otherwise, why kill Thomas? Why not just run away, or tell me, or...anything else?”

“Who knows what went through her head? Panic, most likely. She wasn’t thinking, and I doubt she sat back and realised she had nothing to fear from you. It’s a tragedy, but it’s not your fault. I will keep saying that until the ghost in your head listens.”

“She’s not in my head.”

“All right. Until the ghost you see listens. Does drinking help?”

Athos waved his hand a little helplessly. “It makes me...not _mind_ I can see her.”

“And sex?”

“She’s not around when I’m being fucked. At least, it’s worked this time. But I told Porthos yesterday I can’t keep using you two as my protection against my stupid brain.”

“No, you can’t.” Aramis kept up his slow caress of Athos’s cheek. “But I don’t think you’ll need to. You should move away from here. Everywhere you go, even the people you work with, remind you too much of the past. A clean break is what you need.”

Athos pulled away from Aramis’s embrace so he could look at him. “Yeah, right. Leave the only two people left in the entire world who give a flying fuck about me while I’m depressed. That makes sense.”

“You’re forgetting Treville.”

“Treville’s not...he’s a friend, but he was also my boss.”

“Not while you were married, love.”

Treville had been their captain for twelve years, from when they were all still raw lieutenant interns, but had left Montpellier two years ago to take charge in Marseille. He was a good man, and Athos honoured and loved him as a friend, but he wasn’t Porthos or Aramis. The thought of leaving _them_ behind, being alone again somewhere he hadn’t worked or lived before, prey to Anne’s ghosts and his nightmares, made Athos go cold and sick inside.

“I...can’t,” he choked out. “I can’t, Aramis. Please don’t ask that of me.”

“Shhh, Athos.” Aramis wrapped his arms around Athos again. “I ask nothing. These are suggestions, nothing more. If you’re not up to it, then that’s that. I just think you should talk to the captain. He’s not so very far away, after all. We could be with you in a couple of hours, or you with us.”

“I wouldn’t work with you though.”

“Yeah, but you also wouldn’t be working with Marcheaux either. I’ll be honest, Athos. Porthos and I have been considering a move ourselves. He’s becoming unbearable, jumped up little arsehole that he is. He doesn’t give a shit about his people and it shows.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Athos had to admit that the man was one of the major reasons he was so miserable at work now. He’d been utterly unsympathetic over the deaths of Anne and Thomas, and considered Athos little better than a criminal himself for mourning a murderer. “I’ve been thinking of getting out of police work altogether.”

Aramis stared at him. “You? They cut you open and they’ll find _Pro patria vigilant_ running through your heart like a piece of candy rock. You were born to be a cop.”

“I was _born_ to run the family business, actually. Being a cop was definitely not what my parents had planned for me.”

“As you like, then, but I think you’d be miserable. More miserable,” he said, chucking Athos under his chin and making him smile. “Now, we’re going to stop by your place, pick up your clothes and necessities, and then we are going to go for a nice long bracing walk.”

“Aramis, it’s raining.”

“And?”

Athos gave him a look. “You _know_ I hate rain.” So did Aramis, he thought.

Aramis shrugged. “The forecast is for it to clear. So, we’ll hope for better weather by the time we clean up and go to your place, but one way or another, you are going _out_.”

“I’d rather stay here and make love.”

“ _Chéri_ , my cock adores your mouth and your arse, but I’m an old man now. I can’t keep it up like I could ten years ago.”

“You could two years ago.”

“Ah well, between thirty-six and thirty-eight, the hormones must have an effect or something. But you can fuck me later if you like.”

Athos flushed. He hated topping guys. “Maybe.”

“Stop looking so distraught. Behave and maybe I’ll raid our toy cupboard, yes?”

“So we can stay here and fuck?”

“No, we can do the washing up and go for a walk and then maybe a fucking.” Aramis kissed his forehead. “You’re such a slut, Athos. It’s your best feature.”

“My only good feature.”

“Don’t be silly.”

The rain did clear by the time they had put a small suitcase of Athos’s stuff into Aramis’s car. The air was now clear and very cold, but Athos didn’t mind the cold. He walked though the park, arm linked with Aramis’s, and wondered why he had ever got married in the first place. Oh yeah, love. He’d stick to the love he had for his best friends in future. Much less likely to get anyone killed.

“Why don’t you call Treville?” Aramis said after they finished lunch and had started the long walk back to the car. “Make a time to visit.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to see me like this.”

“Nonsense. He’s expecting to hear from you. Just do it, _chéri_.”

Reluctantly Athos obeyed, looking up the Orleans commissariat and asking to be put through to Commandant Treville. “Athos, nice to hear from you.”

“Thank you, sir. Uh...Aramis said you were interested in talking to me.”

“I am. Are you busy tomorrow?”

Athos would have bet a month’s pay that Treville knew exactly how busy he wasn’t. “No, sir.”

“Then be here at eleven. We’ll have lunch.”

“Aramis is free too.”

“Bring him along as well. Don’t be late.”

Aramis glanced sideways at Athos as he pocketed his phone. “Afraid to talk to him on your own?”

“This is your evil plan, so the least you can do is come along and hold my hand. Or anything else you feel moved to hold in front of him.”

“Remember, your arse is his concern.”

“Fine, fine. Everything else belongs to you and Porthos.”

He felt better when they got back to the apartment, whether because of the fresh air, or the sense that he had done something concrete towards getting out of the mire his life had become, or maybe just Aramis’s kind smile as they walked along.

“Coffee?” Aramis asked when they got inside.

“Please.” Athos sat at the kitchen bar. “You don’t have to go to Orleans with me tomorrow.”

“I want to. I miss the captain as much as anyone. And besides, I want to be sure they’ll take good care of you.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “I'm really not a child, whatever you think of my behaviour.”

“No, you’re a treasured friend who’s had a shit of a hand dealt him. I don’t want you to end up in a place with people worse than Marcheaux.”

“Under Treville? Really?”

“Okay, point, but since you set it up, let’s leave it that way. I have nothing better to do.”

“You should be at work instead of looking after your drunken sot of a friend.” Marcheaux would undoubtedly take his annoyance with Athos out on his friends, making their work environment even more intolerable. Athos trailed misery behind him like a cloud, infecting and ruining everyone who ever cared for him.

Aramis put his palms on the kitchen counter and looked at Athos, saying nothing. Athos endured the steady gaze for a minute until he cracked. “What?”

“Come with me.”

“Aramis?”

“I believe I promised you something if you followed my suggestions today. Go to the bathroom, _chéri_ , and wait for me.”

Athos did as he said, resting with his hands on the sink and staring into the bathroom mirror. Still no ghost. Maybe he’d finally fixed whatever was wrong with his brain to cause the illusion. He could only hope so.

Aramis was back in a couple of minutes. “Pants off, Athos, and come back to that position.”

Athos raised his eyebrow at his commanding tone—Aramis was no one’s idea of a dom. But he did as asked, kicking his jeans and underpants aside, his cock against the cold porcelain of the sink. Aramis stood behind him. “Did Anne ever play with your arse, love?” He rubbed a slick finger up and down Athos’s cleft as he spoke.

“No.”

“Did you want her to?”

“This is a lousy way to put me in the mood, Aramis.”

“Just...talk to me, Athos. Did you want her to touch you that way?”

“Yes. But she didn’t like the idea.”

“So when I play with your arse like this,” he pushed a finger inside Athos, making him close his eyes with pleasure, “who are you thinking of?”

“You. You and Porthos. Please, Aramis.”

Aramis kissed his shoulder. “Patience, _chéri_. I’ll look after you. You love this so much, but you couldn’t ask your wife for it?”

Athos tried to bear down on the teasing finger. “No. I didn’t mind.”

“Bull. You love it. You might love vaginas too, but you love this, and you need this.” He added a second finger. “You should find someone, or several someones, to give you what you need, Athos. The past is gone. Make a new future. Find people who will give you joy. People you can say, ‘please, stick your finger up my butt’, to, without feeling shame, or fearing that they’ll judge you. You are a creature of the senses more than anyone I know, except Porthos, yet you try to live only in your head. Won’t work, and drowning yourself in alcohol won’t work either.”

“Y-you said...not to replace one addiction with another. God, Aramis, fuck me!”

“Shhh, shhh. Not an addiction, love. Care and pleasure and happiness. Anne is gone, darling. Gone forever. Give yourself to new pleasures, new thoughts. New friends, maybe. Who knows what waits for you in Orleans?”

“If I know Treville, a gigantic arsekicking.”

“Maybe if you asked him nicely, he’d tie you up and use a leather belt on your pretty arse, yes? Make it all sore and red and ready for fucking?”

Athos shuddered at the image. “Please....”

“Got you, Athos.” Aramis removed his fingers, but was back seconds later with something else, something harder. “My cock is too sensitive for you right now. But this never gets too sore or tired.” He eased the tip of the plug inside Athos, and Athos bore down, trying to take it in deeper. He hissed a little as it stretched his hole, but bucked onto it, wanting it in him now. Aramis had one hand splayed on Athos’s chest, settling him, as the widest part of the plug eased in. “Okay, _querido_?”

“Yes, yes it’s good.” With the whole plug inside him, something slid and quieted inside Athos, liked he was centred and solid.

Aramis looked at him in the mirror. “See? You do need this. I don’t know you did without it after you were married.”

“I loved her.”

“Now she’s gone, love. All the harm she could do you is past, over. All the things you could not ask for, you can ask for now. All the things you denied yourself, you can have now. Let go, Athos. Let go and let us catch you.”

Athos leaned back on Aramis, and his friend put his arms around him. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Can you stay like this until Porthos comes home? He so wants to fuck you tonight.”

“Can I suck you again? Please.”

Aramis nuzzled at his neck. “No, darling. Tonight, it’s his turn. Don’t be greedy. But I’m going to suck you, okay? After he fucks you, and sucks me off while you watch? Then you can come in my mouth. Do you need anything? A cock ring? Do you want me to tie your hands?”

“Tie me, please.”

“Okay. You keep your pants off now. Shirt on or off?”

“On.” He was too skinny to look at.

“Hands behind you. Relax, darling.”

Athos stood at parade rest, wrists crossed behind him. Aramis tied them with something soft, maybe a silk scarf. “Okay? Comfortable?”

Athos tried the bonds. He could slip them if he really needed to. “Perfect.”

“Then come out and sit.”

Aramis brought a towel and laid it on the couch. He helped Athos sit cross-legged on it, back straight. The plug felt big, filling. Good. Athos was hard but not desperate to come. Aramis unbuttoned his shirt and left it clear of his cock, pushing the undershirt up his chest, so Athos was on display like some pagan god. Or possibly a priapic monkey.

“Now, tell me if you need to move. I want you to relax, to have something good to think about, like how nice Porthos’s cock is going to feel back there. But if you start heading to a bad place, you let me know.”

“Yes.”

Aramis bent and kissed him on the lips. “Good. You’re so beautiful like this, Athos. I could look at you all day.”

“The man who’s Porthos’s lover says this?”

“Beauty comes in all forms. Your mouth alone is a sin. You still want coffee?”

“I’m good.” Athos rocked a little, feeling the plug inside him. He sighed and let the tension drain out of him, enjoying the sensation of the thing, imagining Porthos’s large fingers there, or Aramis’s tongue.

He had zoned out on the sensation completely when Aramis leant over the back of the couch and touched his shoulders. “Want a massage?”

“Mmmm.”

Aramis dug his fingers in, finding where Athos had held himself tight in the unnatural position, and where his neck was strained from sitting up. Athos let his head fall forward, letting Aramis mould him like putty. Before Anne, the three of them had got together every month or so. The sex had been good, even fabulous, but it was Aramis’s hands on him that Athos remembered. Porthos’s heat, Aramis’s hands. Anne had been good in bed, but she hadn’t been them.

“I will never find anyone like you guys. Not of my own.”

“Well, then, you’ll have to visit. Lots and lots. We’re not letting you go to a life alone, love.” Aramis bent and kissed his ear. “We’re setting you free, not abandoning you. We won’t let you avoid us again.”

“Sorry.” Sorry for forgetting what they meant to him, and what they had done for him. Sorry for thinking their affection and love could have no answer to his all-consuming grief and confusion.

“You’re forgiven. How are the shoulders?”

“Good.” Athos closed his eyes. Maybe he would even sleep like this. He felt so boneless now. Aramis stroked his hair a bit, and Athos kept his head drooping forward. It was the quietest his mind had been since the deaths.

Porthos came home half an hour later. After kissing Aramis at the door, he walked into the living room. “So, what’s this? Xmas come early, and St Nicholas left me a lovely gift?” He knelt in front of Athos and hugged him, resting Athos’s head on his shoulder. “You getting ready for me, love?”

“Mmmm, yes.”

“You sure? Even Aramis has trouble taking it.”

“Yes, Porthos.”

“Okay. But I’m gonna eat first, and look at you for a bit, okay? Aramis, are we gonna feed him first or later?”

“Later, I think. Athos, still comfortable?”

“Mmmm.”

Aramis laughed. “Athos, reduced to wordlessness. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Athos opened an eye and managed, he hoped, to convey without words the finger he would be holding up if his hands weren’t tied behind his back.

“Don’t piss him off, love. You know he can’t fight back right now.”

“True. Sorry, _chéri_.” Aramis knelt down in the place Porthos had just abandoned, and kissed the tip of Athos’s erection. “Make it up to you later, okay?”

“Aramis....”

Aramis kissed him on the lips, then stood. “Later, _chéri._ Must feed my man first.”

Porthos sat in the armchair opposite the sofa, Aramis on the floor at his feet. Both of them watched Athos as they ate pasta, licking their lips and smiling at him like he was dessert. Which he might have been, actually. Aramis came over after a bit and held a bit of pasta on his fork. “A little nourishment now, _querido_?”

Athos took the food, and the delicious taste reminded him he was hungry. Aramis fed him some more, delicate little portions Athos could lick from the fork if he chose, while Porthos watched with avid eyes, grinning like a wolf that knows his prey is down and easy for him.

“Enough, Athos? Still hungry?”

“I’m good.”

Aramis rose and took their plates away. He brought back a bottle of water for Athos to sip from, the cool liquid welcome though Athos hadn’t thought he was thirsty.

“Porthos, love, help me with him.”

They lifted Athos to his feet. He was amazed to find he actually needed the help, his leg refusing to move. Aramis made no move to untie his hands, only urging him, with Porthos’s strong arms supporting him, to the bedroom where they laid him on his back, his hands still behind him. “Pretty, ain’t he,” Porthos said. “You sure it’s not Xmas?”

“St Nicholas didn’t come, but I’m sure we will.”

Porthos shook his head at Aramis’s dreadful joke, then sat on the bed next to Athos. He ran his hand down Athos’s chest and stomach, before wrapping a big hand around his cock. Athos arched off the bed, trying to thrust into his hand. “No, don’t you come, pretty one. Aramis wants that for himself, he said.”

Porthos caught Aramis’s hand and drew him over. “How many times did you fuck him today?”

“Just the once. His mouth. I told him he couldn’t have me again today.”

“Too right. If we let Athos have your cock too many times, he might never be able to settle for anything else. But you like to watch, don’t you, Athos?”

“Yes.”

“Good man.” Porthos reached for a pillow and eased it under Athos’s head. “Okay?”

“Perfect.”

“Right. So you watch me now with this one, my beautiful man.”

Aramis stood passively, letting his handsome lover undress him with great gentleness, revealing his taut, lightly muscled frame that belied the fact he was nearly as strong as Porthos and twice as fast as any of them. Relaxed, he could look harmless, almost helpless. Many a criminal had made the mistake of thinking so, and not a few had lifelong scars to remind them of their error.

Porthos took Aramis’s cock in, as Aramis’s long-fingered hands settled on Porthos’s black curls. Aramis gazed down at Porthos with love shining in his dark eyes, with so much adoration it made Athos’s heart ache. Once, he looked at Anne that way. And no matter how fond these two were of him, he would never experience that look from them. He had to make a new path, as Aramis had told him to do.

But for now, he could watch the love and attention Porthos lavished on Aramis with his mouth, his hands cupping Aramis’s buttocks, and Aramis clenching and uncurling his fingers in Porthos’s hair like a kitten kneading its mother. The physical feelings might have been lust and arousal, but the main emotion was love, and Athos was alternately awed and envious of what they shared. That openness, he had never had with Anne, he realised now. He didn’t know that until what they had was gone, and he discovered how much she’d been hiding from him, how much she had been _afraid_ to show him.

Aramis and Porthos had no secrets, no desire to keep any if they did. Everything they wanted, everything they felt for each other, was right there, and they were proud to show it to him, unashamed of what they did and how they felt.

Aramis arched back as he came, but Porthos anchored him with his hands, gripping, then petting him, finally easing him down to the floor where they held each other, whispering endearments in each other’s ears.

Athos thought he’d been forgotten, until the two of them turned to him with twin expressions of desire. “It’s about time I opened my un-Xmas present, don’t you think, Aramis?”

“Certainly, love. Which way do you want him? And shall I make him come now or later?”

“After, if he ain’t come before.” Porthos lifted an eyebrow at Aramis. “I reckon I can fuck an orgasm right out of him.” Athos’s erection bobbed at his words. Porthos knelt on the bed and palmed his cock. “What do you think?” he asked, massaging carefully. Athos could have fucked himself quite happily just on his hand.

“I’d like you to try. But I also want Aramis.” His voice had gone all husky, his throat tight with lust.

“Greedy man. Let’s see what happens.” He pushed Athos’s legs wide apart, almost painfully so, then Aramis pushed two pillows under his hips, so he lay splayed out to their gaze. Porthos took hold of the butt plug’s handle and jiggled it. Athos jerked at the sensation. “You ready for this to come out?” Athos nodded. “Okay, push.”

Athos obeyed, and the thing came out without too much difficulty. “Aramis, you want to prepare him for me? Then do me?”

“Of course, love.” Aramis knelt at the side of the bed and put lube on his fingers. He slid two of them straight into Athos, and wet him well until Athos was writhing, looking for them to go deeper. “Patience, Athos.” He withdrew his fingers and wiped them on a towel, then rolled a condom onto Porthos’s erection, coating it with lube as well. He moved back onto the bed, behind Athos, and replaced the pillow under Athos’s head with his lap. He put his hand in Athos’s hair, twisting the strands around his fingers, and tugging it to the point of pain. “Ready now, love.”

Porthos climbed onto the bed. He was so big, he made Athos feel like Porthos would crush him under his weight, but in reality, Porthos was quite gentle and careful in bed, perhaps because he _was_ so big and knew his own strength.

He nudged at Athos’s hole, and slowly thrust in almost to the hilt. Athos hissed, but Porthos just stayed there, letting him adjust. He was a _lot_ bigger than the plug. “Okay?” Porthos finally whispered.

“Yeah. It’s good.”

Porthos withdrew, then thrust again. At the same time, Aramis gave Athos’s hair a tug, sharp and painful. The sensations from two ends of his body, pleasure and pain, collided somewhere in his lower belly and caught fire. Porthos held his hips and raised him further, so he could thrust deeper and harder into Athos, making his vision sparkle. And with each thrust, Aramis pulled his hair, until he didn’t know which touch he wanted to push closer to.

Porthos adjusted his angle and the sparkles became stars as Athos closed his eyes and rode out the sensation of almost too much, too intense pleasure, Aramis adding a counterpoint with the sharp, delightful pain. Someone was making breathy little whimpering noises—and it was him—forced out by Porthos’s big cock slamming into him over and over, bringing him right up to the edge of coming, but not...quite.

“More,” he begged in a whisper, and he was given it, until he was lost in a blur of touches and sensations and need, so very near to climaxing but not yet there.

Until he was. “A-aahhh.” He exhaled as he came, his hips jerking in Porthos’s grasp. Aramis bent over him and put his mouth on Athos’s still sputtering cock, licking him and sucking as he came, cleaning his come and warming his cock as it softened.

Porthos withdrew and eased Athos’s legs into a more natural position. Aramis sat up and Athos twisted his straining shoulders to try and release the knots in them. Aramis helped him sit, and untied his hands, before letting Athos rest against him, wrapping his arms around Athos as if to keep him warm. “Okay, love?”

“It was lovely.” Athos held out his hand to Porthos, who slid forward to lay his head on Athos’s stomach. “Thank you, big guy.”

“You’re welcome. I’m expecting to find you under my tree in December, if you don’t get a better offer by then.”

“Not possible.”

Porthos chuckled. “Life is surprising like that, Athos. I never expected to find the love of my life in a police commissariat, but he just walked into my life one day and there it was. And I never expected you, our high strung little _comte,_ to be such a raver in bed either.”

Athos pulled a face at the nickname. “You certainly know how to ruin the mood, Du Vallon.”

“Well, it’s true, Captain de la Fère, like it or not. Bet the rest of those little cockroaches Marcheaux’s so fond of has no idea what a beauty you are when you come.”

“As Athos said, my love, you do know how to ruin a mood.” But Aramis stroked Porthos’s head affectionately when he said it. “Athos is seeing the captain tomorrow. I’m going with him.”

“Good. Get out while you can, love. And come visit when you need us.”

“What, every other evening?”

Porthos laughed again. “If you like. You’ll be fine. No more fucking ghosts either.”

“If they were fucking, I wouldn’t be so bothered,” Athos said, which made Aramis grin. “I think I need a shower before I come to bed.”

“So go have one. I’ll make you something else to eat. And then ice cream and something silly on the television.”

“Ice-cream in bed, and Athos reading to us,” Porthos amended.

“Oooh, yes. Athos, would you mind?”

Athos pulled his shirt closed around him. “Of course not. Do you heathens actually have any books you want me to read?”

Porthos sat up and gave him a cuff on the head—fortunately, lightly. “Heathens my left bollock. My iPad’s full of books.”

“Oh, your _iPad_ is full of _books_. You mean, _stories_.” Athos waited for the reaction straight-faced.

“Snob.”

“Philistine.”

Athos couldn’t hold his grin back any more, and Porthos gave him one of his lovely huge smiles back. “You’re full of shit, de la Fère.”

“Pretty sure you’d have fucked it out of me if I was, Du Vallon.”

“Gentlemen, as charming as this all is....” Aramis climbed to his feet. “Athos, shower. Porthos, go with him. Athos, real food or just ice-cream?”

“Ice-cream will be fine.”

“And I’ll choose a book for you to read. Winnie the Pooh, perhaps?”

Athos took the dare at face value. “If Porthos genuinely has that on his iPad, then I will. In English, even.”

“Aramis, I could _murder_ you,” Porthos said, raising his fist and shaking it at his lover.

Athos stared at his friend. “You really do own Winnie the Pooh in English?”

“For Aramis’s niece, yeah. Not for me. You _wouldn’t_ , Athos.”

“I could be bribed. It could go either way. Chocolate, fine wine, blowjobs, foot massages. I’m easy but I’m not cheap.”

Porthos gave him an evil look. “How about I don’t spank you until you scream?”

Athos looked him in the eye. “How about you _do_?”

Aramis covered his laugh with his hand. “You asked for that one, my love.”

“All right, but tomorrow,” Porthos insisted. “After you see the captain. Tonight, shower, ice-cream and no children’s books.”

“Yes, dear.”

*********************************

They took Athos’s car but he let Aramis drive. Athos was quite sober, but his stomach was doing such flip-flops he’d been unable to eat breakfast, or even have coffee. Aramis had shaken his head at him, but agreed to drive while Athos sat in the passenger seat trying not to throw up and wondering if Treville would be disgusted at the way he’d let himself go.

Aramis stopped outside the city at a petrol station to get Athos a pastry and some coffee with two sugars. “You don’t want to pass out in front of the captain, do you?”

Athos admitted he didn’t, and the carbohydrates helped calm him a bit. They were on time, thank God. He pulled himself together and tried to walk into the _Hôtel de Police_ like he wasn’t a near alcoholic loser who was pissing his career away mourning his murderous, lying, dead wife.

Treville came out to greet them. He smiled broadly and shook Athos’s hand. “Glad you came. Aramis, so good to see you again.”

“And you, sir.”

He took them into his office. “So, Athos. I hear you’ve had better years.”

“You could say that, sir.”

“I also hear that you are doing your best to send a long and illustrious career down the shitter over Anne’s death.”

“Not intentionally.”

“I don’t care if it’s intentional or not. You, Porthos, and Aramis are the best police officers I have ever worked with, bar none. If Marcheaux’s too much of an idiot to help you pick yourself up and sort yourself out, I want you here where I can. I need the Athos I knew in Montpellier. I believe he’s still in there. So you tell me—would you rather drink yourself to death in disgrace, or come here and help me train my people, and work with me?”

“Come here, sir.”

“Then come. I’ve already spoken to Marcheaux. He’s indecently eager to be rid of you which only tells me he’s a fool. You could start Monday if you want.”

“Monday?” Aramis said.

“So he said. Man’s an idiot and a thug. Aramis, you and Porthos would be gifts to me if you came down too.”

Aramis stroked his moustache. “I’ll talk to him. Athos? Will you come here regardless?”

Athos had spent a lot of the night and all of the morning agonising over this. “Yes.”

“Done,” Treville said. “But you cut down on the drink, and you _never ever_ turn up drunk to the workplace again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I just...the findings came out last Friday. Hit me hard.”

Treville nodded. “I can understand that, Athos. But at the same time, you’re paid to work for the people of your city, and you can’t do that if you’re two sheets to the wind. I have talented people here who need your example and your experience. Watching you try to walk a straight line is not something I want them to see.”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Come meet some of my people, and then we’ll have lunch.”

“Sir, I can’t really start Monday—where would I stay?”

Treville smiled. “Already taken care of, Athos. Captain Bonacieux and her husband, Lieutenant d’Artagnan, have a room to let and I strongly advise you to take it, since I understand,” he added, hiding a smirk and looking at Aramis, “you do better with a little company at home, than on your own. At least, give it a chance.”

“All right.” Athos had been played very handily, but he didn’t mind. He hadn’t quite got control back over his life himself, but at least the people at the wheel now weren’t drunk off their face—or murderers.

“Excellent. The team’s getting back together. Welcome to Marseille, Captain de la Fère.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know very little about the French police system, and absolutely nothing about the commisariats in Montpellier or Marseille. Nothing in this series is intended to reflect reality or real people in those jurisdictions in any way at all.
> 
> The next story in the series is where the real plot begins, okay? It's not just about smut (though there's nothing wrong with that :) Also, despite the title, this is not a series about serious BDSM. They just like a bit of spanking and hand tying to spice up their sex lives.
> 
> Comments, criticism and corrections craved!


End file.
